


A Deadly Exchange

by fierathefangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 11:59:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fierathefangirl/pseuds/fierathefangirl
Summary: Based on the prompt: "Imagine Dean finding out you’re pregnant after he sells his soul to save you.”





	1. Part 1

_Ring. Ring. Ring._ “Hello. This is Dean Winchester. Please leave a message—” you set the phone back in its cradle on the motel room’s nightstand. Why isn’t Dean answering? That was your third call. He has to pick up, you  _need_  him to pick up.

You grab the phone again after a few seconds and dial his number one more time.

_Ring. Ring. Ri—_  “Hello? (Y/N)?” It’s Dean, his voice low and gruff. You can hear a sort of humming in the background that you recognize as the sound of the Impala on the road. “Is something wrong?”

_Is something wrong._   _Well. That would be a matter of opinion, wouldn’t it?_ you think to yourself sarcastically as you stare at the pregnancy test in your hand.

“I’m…” you start, but change directions after the first word. “Where are you? We need to talk.”

“I’m out doing stuff for the job we’re on,” he tells you, sounding unusually distracted. You wonder what’s on his mind. “I just have to talk to a couple of people and then I’ll be back. I promise it won’t take too long.”

“Could you hurry, please?” you ask, hoping your voice won’t fail on you. You’re not sure if you can hold back your tears much longer.

“I’ll try, but it might be a couple of hours…” he says.

“Dean,” you say, your voice firm.

“What is it? I honestly don’t think I’m going to be able to make it back before dinner—”

“Dean, I’m pregnant.” There. It’s a little relieving, just letting the words fall from your mouth. He finally knows.

You hold your breath as you wait for him to respond, but all you hear is silence. Then a click. Then the dial tone.

You let out a huff and slam the phone back into the receiver. That wasn’t the reaction you were expecting. You weren’t sure what exactly you  _were_  expecting. You were  _hoping_  for maybe a bit of a excitement, or maybe happiness, or something.

You want to pick the phone back up, to redial Dean’s number, to hear what he has to say. But you know he wouldn’t pick up. No, he would find you when he was ready to talk. All you can do now is wait.

Twenty minutes later, you hear a click as the door unlocks and you jump up. The door swings open… and there’s Dean. He’s solemnly looking at the ground, not at you, so you can’t get a good look at the expression on his face that you’re dying to see. You need to know how he’s feeling about all of this.

“Dean,” you say, standing a few feet in front of him, unmoving. Unsure what to say.

“(Y/N),” he whispers, and he closes the distance between the two of you, encircling you in his warm arms and burying his face in your hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Dean,” you say, pulling back so you can look up into his face. “What are you sorry about? That we’re having a baby? Because I’m… I’m so excited, I’ve always…” You trail off when you see the look on his face. A look of pride and sadness and happiness and love. “What is it?”

He bites his lip and glances away, his eyes starting to shine with unshed tears. “I… I’m never going to be a dad.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, confused. Why not? Is he breaking up with you? Your stomach drops and you forget to breathe. Oh, god. He’s breaking up with you.

He can’t hold back the tears anymore, and one starts trailing down his face. He wipes it away quickly. “Remember… last week there was that monster that bit you,” he starts.

You nod. Last week there  _was_  a monster you had been fighting that had buried its teeth in your forearm before you killed it. Dean had cleaned the bite, patched it up, and bandaged it, but it was itchy and painful and uncomfortable for the entire week. It was a little bit scary when it started to blacken around the edges of the wound and the veins bordering the wound starting turning black, giving a resemblance to the branches of an old, dying tree, too far gone to be able to have any leaves.

But Dean promised it would get better, and you believed him. He knew what he was talking about when it came to monsters. Dean continues, “Let me see your arm.”

“What? Why—”

He takes your arm and rolls up your sleeve, quickly unwrapping the bandages. When they’re all gone, the wound is exposed—or it would have been, if there was something there. But the skin is completely healed, there’s not even a mark, nothing to show that the flesh there was ever torn.

“I don’t understand, it was…” you trail off, confused.

“How has it been feeling today?” he asks.

Now that you think about it, you haven’t been plagued by the usual itchiness and pain for the past few hours.

Dean goes on without waiting for your response. “That monster that bit you,” he says softly. “I didn’t want to tell you, but… it’s bite is poisonous and there is no antidote. You were going to die in another week, maybe two, and I couldn’t—” another tear “—I couldn’t bear to think about losing you.”

“What are you saying?” you ask, starting to feel absolutely numb. “Dean, what did you do?”

“I did the only thing I could think of to save you,” he says, stroking your face, but you hardly feel it. You can hardly feel anything now. “I went to a crossroads demon and asked her to take my life and save yours. She accepted. I sold my soul. I have a year.” Another tear slides down his cheek and he wipes it away, as if brushing away a tear would be able to brush away the problems you’re facing.

“Dammit,” he grumbles with a small laugh, the kind you recognize as a type to try to lessen the pain.

You stumble to the bed and sit down on the edge, your jaw still hanging open. Dean,  _your_ Dean, was going to hell. Because you were stupid enough to get bitten during a stupid hunt. He would only be there for one more year, and your baby,  _his_ baby would grow up without a father.

Dean sits down on the bed next to you and wraps an arm around you as you sit there silently.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your ear. “There was no other choice.”

It hits you then just how unfair all of this is and the tears come fast and hard. You stand up quickly and storm towards the door. “I… I need some time to think,” you manage to choke out before you’re out the door.

The last image you have is of Dean still sitting there on the bed, a self-loathing look on his face as he watches you go.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the happy ending I added after people asked for it.

You gently rock the baby cradled in your arms, humming Hey Jude to her. The tone is shaky because you’re trying your hardest not to cry. Hey Jude was the song Dean’s mother sang to him when he was younger.

Dean. Just the small accidental thought of him overwhelms you in a flurry of emotion and you have to sit down on the edge as your body is racked with sobs.

Dean is gone. He’s dead. Forever.

It’s worse knowing that he’s in hell.

It’s worse knowing that he went to hell for you. One stupid mistake on a hunt and you were dying, and he made a deal with the devil to trade his life for yours.

Dead. The word resonates inside your head with an agonizing echo. He can’t be dead, you want to tell yourself. It’s just a nightmare. I’ll wake up any second. But you can’t lie to yourself. He’s gone and you know it.

It’s been two days. Two days since the hell hounds found him and shredded him like paper. Two days since he whispered “I love you” into your ear a second before his breath stopped. Two days since he’s died.

Yesterday, you and Sam gave him a proper hunter’s funeral. The two of you had stood side by side, watching the pyre go up in flames, silent tears streaming down your faces. The baby, Dean’s baby, your baby, was there, too. In your arms. But she didn’t know what was happening. She didn’t realize that her father was gone. She didn’t understand any of it.

He had gotten four months with her. You remembered the day she was born, Dean holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. And you knew what he was capable, how many demons he had killed, but the way he held her was so gentle. He had looked at her wrinkled little face and smiling with such happiness and joy and love… and a tinge of sadness and longing. He knew he had four months left, the clock was ticking, he didn’t have much time with her before he went downstairs.

You manage to slow your crying and stop it, so you stand back up and start to pace. Your daughter has long since fallen asleep, but now you’re staying in motion to soothe yourself.

How are you going to get by without Dean?

Time heals all. That’s the saying, isn’t it? But time passes so slowly. As the days pass after Dean’s death, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You just lay in bed, unmoving except when you go to take care of the baby.

It only takes a three weeks before Sam grows concerned enough to visit you. You haven’t been answering his texts or emails or phone calls so he hasn’t heard from you at all.

You hear the knock on your door and don’t move, just pulling the blankets of the bed tighter around yourself.

“(Y/N)?” a voice calls. “It’s me.”

You don’t reply, hoping that if you don’t say anything he’ll go away. But he doesn’t. He’s a Winchester. Of course he wouldn’t. He knows how to get past a locked door, so thirty seconds later hear a soft click and then the opening of the door.

You still don’t move, so he comes over and gently shakes your shoulder. “(Y/N),” he says softly. “Hey.”

You don’t say anything, but him being here just reminds you of the day, three weeks ago, when you had burned Dean’s body. A tear drips onto the sheet and you sniff, starting to shake as you try your hardest not to completely fall apart.

He sits down on the bed and rubs your shoulder reassuringly.

“(Y/N), I know it hurts. But he would want you to keep going.”

“I don’t want to keep going,” you say, your throat thick with tears.

“You have to. For him. For your daughter.”

You don’t want to, but Sam’s right. It takes a bit of convincing to do it, but finally you decide you need to get back on your feet.

Sam helps you for a couple of weeks while you try to get things under control again. You decide not to hunt anymore, not with a baby daughter, so you move into an apartment and make yourself a home. You get a job at a store. You don’t make a lot of money, but it’s enough to get by.

After the first couple of years, as you watch your daughter grow, you wonder if you should try to find another guy. Your child should have a father while she grows up, even if it’s not her real one. But every time you consider trying to find someone, memories of Dean flash in your mind and you put off looking for a relationship indefinitely.

Your daughter turns four years old. You try not to think about what her birthday party would be like if her daddy was there. Instead you try to focus on those who could make it: a couple of coworkers, an old hunter buddy, and Sam. You’ve kept in contact with him. He reminds you painfully of Dean, but he’s family and you can’t just let go of family, no matter what.

One day a couple of months later, you’re at work and your phone buzzes. The store’s empty and you don’t have anything to do, so you pull out your phone and check the text message. It’s from Sam.

_Warning in advance that you’re going to come home to a shock._

You text back, _What do you mean? What am I going to go home to?_

 _It’s best if I don’t tell you,_ is his response.

You want to call him and demand that he tells you, but he’s stubborn and you know it wouldn’t do any good. So, expecting the worst, you get off work, go to pick up your daughter from daycare, and head back to your apartment, wondering what’s waiting you there.

Your daughter stands patiently next to you as you unlock the door, telling you about the who she played with today at daycare.

You push open the door like you have a thousand times before…

And freeze at what you see. Your daughter hardly notices as she walks past you into the room. But she stops after a second, too, after she sees what you have.

There’s somebody in your living room, lounging on the couch, though he quickly stands up as soon as he sees you. Somebody you never thought you’d ever see again.

“Mommy? Who’s that?” your daughter asks, glancing up uneasily at you.

You can’t answer her. You’re completely focused on him.

“Dean,” you whisper, tears springing to your eyes. He stands there, an unsure smile on his face.

You practically sprint the distance between the two of you and practically knock him over as you tackle him in a hug. “Dean,” you say again, your voice cracking as tears start to really flow. You bury your face in his shirt. He smells like how you remember, like his shampoo and the leather of his jacket. You hadn’t realized how much you missed that scent.

You remember your hunter instincts after a second and jump back away from him, regarding him suspiciously and wiping away tears with the back of your hand, though you’re really itching just to be back in his embrace. “Wait, you’re not—”

“No,” he says, pulling some salt out of his pocket and rubbing it on his hand and then cutting the the side of his wrist with a silver knife. The second he finishes showing he’s him and not a monster, you’re back wrapped around him.

“I missed you so much,” you say.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, his voice catching from emotion.

“How?” you ask, pulling back just far enough that you can look into his eyes. There’s essentially no way out of hell. It would take something powerful, really powerful, to break him out.

“I don’t know,” he says, and you can tell he’s telling the truth.

His eyes… now that you’ve locked yours on his, you can’t break the stare. You forgot how beautifully green they are, how intense, how passionate…

You grab the collar of his jacket and pull his mouth down to yours. You kiss him with every ounce of love you’ve had sealed up for the past four years, tucked away deep inside in a special place you saved for Dean. You can feel his desperation as he kisses you back, his fingertips stroking your face and his hands running through your hair as if he’s trying to reassure himself that you’re actually real.

“Mommy?” your daughter says from the doorway. You completely forgot about her in the joy of seeing Dean again.

“Oh, um,” you say, breaking the kiss and looking at her. “Sorry, baby. This is your daddy.”

Dean’s eyes light up even more when he sees her, and somehow he looks so happy yet so ready to cry at the same time. He says your daughter’s name softly as he crouches down to her height. “She’s grown so big.” She has, since he last saw her. It’s still fresh in your memory, holding her tiny self at four months old while the smell of smoke from Dean’s funeral pyre filled your nose.

“Dad?” your daughter asks, taking a few tentative steps forward.

“Yeah. This is him. Come say hi,” you tell her.

She takes a few more steps forward until she’s standing a couple feet away from Dean. He holds his arms out for a hug and she closes the remaining distance and wraps her arms around him.

It’s clear that she’s a little uncomfortable, but you know she’ll grow close to him soon enough. You’ve always known Dean would be an amazing father. He was in the four months he had the chance to be.

She smiles nervously when Dean lets her go, and then runs down the hall to her room, glancing back over her shoulder briefly as she goes.

“She just has to get to know you,” you say to him, as he straightens back up and re-wraps his arms around you as you stare after the doorway your daughter disappeared into.

“I know,” he says.

You move your eyes up to his and a smile tugs at the edge of your lips. “I love you so much,” you say, giving him a peck on the lips. “I did all four years you were gone.”

“I loved you all that time, too,” he says, and you close your eyes as he kisses you more deeply. You forget about everything then, about how Dean got back from hell, about your stupid job that you probably are going to quit now, about the rest of the world. It’s just him and you.


End file.
